The Absurd and Amazing Adventures of Cafe Girl: Stories

April 13, 2009


Over the past month, I've been collecting stories. Stories of how people got together, of how people come apart, of what happens when love blooms, of what happens when it dies.

I collect these stories, in part, because I want to see if there is a common theme, and in part, because I'm trying to understand this complicated fabric known as "relationships." I've come to realize I know so little about relationships, what makes them work, what doesn't. Why some people can click and why some people can not. Why opposites attract, and similarities repel. I collect these stories hoping that each will give me a clue of some kind of what I'm to expect in my own life.

But if there is one thing I've learnt, is that there are no two stories that are alike. Everyone's story is slighlty different. For every happy ending, that is one that is equally heart-wrenching. For every couple that thought they were perfect for each other, there are an equal number of could never quite make it work. Some couples have come together after adversity, some others have been torn apart. No one's experience mirrors my own -- no matter how similar in personality they are to me.

This is hard for me, not being able to pull a theme from these stories, not being able to have the "to-dos" and "what-not-to-dos" laid out cleanly and neatly for me. It's comforting to have information, to have analytics, "data points," if you will. And yet I know that this points to the intricacy of human nature. No two people, and hence no two stories,are alike. And while these stories that I have heard and gathered educate me to a certain degree, they still don't inform me. At the end of the day, I make my choices, take my own risks, write my own story.

Which leaves me in a place of wondering what my story could possibly be. I worry at times it will be a tragi-comedy. Ever so funny, yet ever so heart-breaking. I worry that each of my desires is just slightly out of my reach and that I will spend the rest of my life just watching the things I want pass on by. These are the stories I write in my head. The ones that are beautiful, poignant, yet bring a little death every time. I'm not sure why these are the stories I invent.

Perhaps it is just more comforting than hoping for a that story with a happy ending -- and being disappointed in the end.

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